Caught In A Circle

I don't like the way she makes me think about myself. I don't enjoy the way she reduces me down and even if it is accurate a part of me doesn't truly want to own up to it.

So when she speaks I'm already searching for excuses and justifications and I don't fully know the reason why but I suspect it could be one of two options.

One, I don't like the fact that she knows me better than I know myself.

Two, I'm so addicted to the thrill of pleasure in this body that I'm not ready to give it up.

Either is just as likely but just the same either is just as unlikely and I am so caught up in trying to figure out which one is more real that I don't stop to consider whether it even matters.

"You are caught in a circle," she tells me, "Round and round like the emptying of a sink and you are circling the drain and if you don't start trying to swim you're going to be pulled under."

Still fighting the battle on her terms. Still trying to find a way to deny the assertions that she is putting forward I attack them head on.

"I'm trying," I protest, "Can't you see that I'm trying. Trying to find my way. Trying to figure out who I am. Trying to understand why all of this is happening to me."

"But you're not finding wholehearted joy."

I shake my head, once and firmly, "I am happy. That's the thing. In the moment I'm happy and then afterwards-"

"You should be happy in all moments," she gently chides me.

And that is a concept that is worthy of mockery.

"No one is happy in all moments," I practically snarl.

She sighs softly, "But you're not even trying it."

The Baba Yaga exhales slowly and steeples her fingers. She draws back in her chair and when she speaks again it is emphasized with her hands. They gently drift and they tug and they pull as if they are playing with invisible strings. They conduct a silent symphony that only she can hear.

But I can at least hear the melody.

"There is joy in quiet moments," she tells me, "Joy in so many moments. In all moments, really."

I don't want to admit that. Panic. Anxiety. Fear. Anger. They have all been such a part of me for so long that to give them up now feels like I'm saying goodbye to an old friend.

So I search for any justification to deny it and there is one that stands above all the others for reasons that make sense to me. Because it is ever present in my mind.

"That's not true. What about moments when you're sad? What about loss? What about ****?"

My words hang heavy, to me at least. My point definitive which makes it all the more shocking when Baba Yaga doesn't take it at face value.

For a limited time you can join my Patreon for only $2 and get access to over a month's worth of new pages of My Second Chance as well as NINE FULL STORIES with a new one every month! Join here: https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert